(no subject)
Title: The Welfare of an Innocent Feather
Rating: PG
Words: About 700.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters or make any money from writing about them!
Prompt: 4 (Feather)
Summary: Handy thing, the feather. Fluffy happenings during History of Magic, MWPP’s 7th year. Follows the little piece I did for Prompt 3.
+++
Handy thing, the feather, Remus muses as he watches Sirius chew absently on his quill.
Keeps birds in the air.
Keeps Remus distracted during History of Magic.
Not that he dislikes History of Magic class.
Well, actually, he does. Everyone does. Remus suspects even their ghostly professor dislikes the class; he just doesn’t know what else to do with himself. Eternity at his disposal, and he spends it in the classroom, droning on about goblin wars.
Bloody goblins. Always warring about something.
Back to the feather.
This is NEWT year. Remus knows he should be focused on taking piles and piles of notes. He shouldn’t be watching Sirius chew on his quill.
Shouldn’t be thinking about tracing the feather-end of the quill down Sirius’ spine and -
No. Stop indulging in wildly inappropriate daydreams about your strictly platonic male friend Sirius.
Remus jabs at his parchment with his own quill, trying to catch up with Professor Binns’ lecture.
Take notes. No one else will. Someone has to do it, Lupin, and you know the other three appointed you to that post long ago.
In years past, he would have sent a note scuttling across the floor to crawl up Sirius’ chair and warn him that if he didn’t stop, he’d not only ruin his quill, but he’d turn his mouth black and no, he could not borrow Remus’ extra quill when that happened (so don’t even think about it, Padfoot). Now he is torn between writing the note and continuing to watch the show.
He cuts his gaze sideways, across the classroom. They can’t sit together anymore. Forbidden by every professor at Hogwarts. Peter’s all the way up front. James is a few rows back. Sirius - two rows up, three seats across - has ink stains on his fingertips. And probably his tongue - Remus shudders - who knows where that quill has been?
He has nice teeth, Remus muses, despite half of them being knocked out and reattached by Madam Pomfrey over the years - Quidditch’ll do that - but really, isn’t it just odd to be thinking about another bloke’s teeth?
Definitely odd. Although, not as odd as thinking about his lips (just a bit prettier than they really should be, sort of … full).
Something’s changed between them. Has been changing for a while. This summer - the owls, every day, he couldn’t stop putting quill to parchment and Merlin help him, he didn’t want to - and neither of them have acknowledged it in so many words, but it’s all there bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to escape.
He thinks it’s not just in his head. Maybe, if not for that moment on Platform 9 ¾, maybe he would have been able to tell himself, you were just bored this summer, and he was just humoring you. You aren’t falling in - you don’t fancy - this isn’t -
But - “Hullo, Moony” - so soft and hopeful. Hot breath, soft and tickly against his ear. Eyes bright with something new and tender.
In his peripheral vision, he sees Sirius pluck the quill from his mouth and scribble something on his parchment. Then he begins to fold.
Moments later, a tiny parchment Padfoot scampers up Remus’ leg and unfolds into a note that reads “This is bollocks.”
Remus nods, knowing Sirius is watching him read the note. Yes, it is bollocks. The boredom of the class, he lies to himself, is the reason he’s daydreaming so. It’s really Sirius’ own fault for chewing on his quill that way, making Remus think about tickling the side of Sirius' neck with that feather - making Remus think about empty broom cupboards and creative uses for school ties -
At last the bell rings. They all crowd for the door. Sirius slings his arm lightly around Remus’ shoulder.
“You’ll need a new quill if you keep that up,” says Remus, though he can’t quite make his voice stern. “Gnawing on it like a bone.”
“Good thing Hogsmeade’s next weekend. I’ll make a shopping list,” Sirius announces. “Many quills. Not to be eaten.”
“Right. Your mouth is all marked up, you know.”
“Been staring at my mouth, Moony?” he teases, arching one eyebrow.
“Merely concerned for the welfare of an innocent feather,” Remus says, with great difficulty.
+++
Rating: PG
Words: About 700.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters or make any money from writing about them!
Prompt: 4 (Feather)
Summary: Handy thing, the feather. Fluffy happenings during History of Magic, MWPP’s 7th year. Follows the little piece I did for Prompt 3.
+++
Handy thing, the feather, Remus muses as he watches Sirius chew absently on his quill.
Keeps birds in the air.
Keeps Remus distracted during History of Magic.
Not that he dislikes History of Magic class.
Well, actually, he does. Everyone does. Remus suspects even their ghostly professor dislikes the class; he just doesn’t know what else to do with himself. Eternity at his disposal, and he spends it in the classroom, droning on about goblin wars.
Bloody goblins. Always warring about something.
Back to the feather.
This is NEWT year. Remus knows he should be focused on taking piles and piles of notes. He shouldn’t be watching Sirius chew on his quill.
Shouldn’t be thinking about tracing the feather-end of the quill down Sirius’ spine and -
No. Stop indulging in wildly inappropriate daydreams about your strictly platonic male friend Sirius.
Remus jabs at his parchment with his own quill, trying to catch up with Professor Binns’ lecture.
Take notes. No one else will. Someone has to do it, Lupin, and you know the other three appointed you to that post long ago.
In years past, he would have sent a note scuttling across the floor to crawl up Sirius’ chair and warn him that if he didn’t stop, he’d not only ruin his quill, but he’d turn his mouth black and no, he could not borrow Remus’ extra quill when that happened (so don’t even think about it, Padfoot). Now he is torn between writing the note and continuing to watch the show.
He cuts his gaze sideways, across the classroom. They can’t sit together anymore. Forbidden by every professor at Hogwarts. Peter’s all the way up front. James is a few rows back. Sirius - two rows up, three seats across - has ink stains on his fingertips. And probably his tongue - Remus shudders - who knows where that quill has been?
He has nice teeth, Remus muses, despite half of them being knocked out and reattached by Madam Pomfrey over the years - Quidditch’ll do that - but really, isn’t it just odd to be thinking about another bloke’s teeth?
Definitely odd. Although, not as odd as thinking about his lips (just a bit prettier than they really should be, sort of … full).
Something’s changed between them. Has been changing for a while. This summer - the owls, every day, he couldn’t stop putting quill to parchment and Merlin help him, he didn’t want to - and neither of them have acknowledged it in so many words, but it’s all there bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to escape.
He thinks it’s not just in his head. Maybe, if not for that moment on Platform 9 ¾, maybe he would have been able to tell himself, you were just bored this summer, and he was just humoring you. You aren’t falling in - you don’t fancy - this isn’t -
But - “Hullo, Moony” - so soft and hopeful. Hot breath, soft and tickly against his ear. Eyes bright with something new and tender.
In his peripheral vision, he sees Sirius pluck the quill from his mouth and scribble something on his parchment. Then he begins to fold.
Moments later, a tiny parchment Padfoot scampers up Remus’ leg and unfolds into a note that reads “This is bollocks.”
Remus nods, knowing Sirius is watching him read the note. Yes, it is bollocks. The boredom of the class, he lies to himself, is the reason he’s daydreaming so. It’s really Sirius’ own fault for chewing on his quill that way, making Remus think about tickling the side of Sirius' neck with that feather - making Remus think about empty broom cupboards and creative uses for school ties -
At last the bell rings. They all crowd for the door. Sirius slings his arm lightly around Remus’ shoulder.
“You’ll need a new quill if you keep that up,” says Remus, though he can’t quite make his voice stern. “Gnawing on it like a bone.”
“Good thing Hogsmeade’s next weekend. I’ll make a shopping list,” Sirius announces. “Many quills. Not to be eaten.”
“Right. Your mouth is all marked up, you know.”
“Been staring at my mouth, Moony?” he teases, arching one eyebrow.
“Merely concerned for the welfare of an innocent feather,” Remus says, with great difficulty.
+++